Magnolia
by camillablue
Summary: Fleeting moments between Lucius and Narcissa, following his return from Azkaban. One-Shot Challenge Fic.


Written for **The Teachers' Lounge: Ultimate Iron Fic Challenge: Round 3,** given the prompt _Coming Home._

My opponent is the wildly talented **littlebirds**. Every single story of hers is a masterpiece, so go read her work immediately.

* * *

He barely notices the sea salt in the wind, stinging his hands and cheeks. He's focusing on breathing; filling his lungs with sweet, sweet air, that doesn't carry the thick scent of mold and human waste.

"Watch it, Malfoy," a raspy voice growls as he's shoved to the side. Lucius stumbles into the wall of jagged, broken bricks, looking up just in time to see Walden shoot him a cold look before stepping into the boat that's tethered to the shore.

Lucius rubs at his shoulder tenderly, gritting his teeth. It would seem the leash has snapped.

The sky, sea and rock are gray. For now, he'll focus on waiting to see the sun...

* * *

She steps closer to the mirror, notices a strand of gray standing out amid the blonde. After charming away the stubborn reminder of her aging flesh, she steps back again and slowly turns, assessing her reflection carefully.

She wears his favourite dress, silver, loose and elegant, black robes over top. She worries that the colour might bring out any more rogue grays, but tells herself that it doesn't matter.

 _His hair is probably completely silver, now._

Still, the thought lingers. She changes into a stiff, blue dress, shrugs back into the black robes.

 _Better._

When the security wards around the manor sound, she opens the heavy door slowly, a welcoming expression firmly in place.

* * *

He hovers on the stone threshold, buttery morning light washing over his back.

"Is something wrong, my love?"

Lucius turns his face towards the gardens, tangled hair falling to the side as he moves. "A bit late in the season for magnolias, is it not?"

Narcissa forces a small smile, gently laying a hand on her husband's arm. "It is. I had them charmed, for your return. They were always your favourite." The fingers of her other hand play with the gold blossom at her neck; a reminder of gentler days.

Lucius snorts indelicately as he pulls away. The planes of his face could cut through glass. "The flower of dignity. How...appropriate."

Narcissa stiffens. "I thought so."

He barely flinches at the sharpness in her voice.

* * *

He watches her from the bed as she brushes her hair, counting the strokes as the bristles smooth pale blonde ringlets.

Her fingers tremble as she clutches the silver handle. "Stop looking at me," she whispers.

"No."

She turns slowly in her chair, letting her elbow dip down the back. "You're scaring me, Lucius."

He sighs, turning onto his back. His eyes harden as he stares up at the chandelier. "I know."

She sets the brush down and pads softly over to the bed, sweeping herself into a small bundle of silk and curls on the edge of the coverlet. After a moment of quiet, she reaches over, hesitantly, letting the tips of her fingers trail along the rough stubble on his cheek, willing herself not to pull away.

"You've never felt like this," she says quietly, letting her hand still.

"I've never felt like this," he echoes, eyes closing. "Your hand is scorching hot."

She jerks away as his hand snaps up to grasp her wrist. His nails are blackened; her nostrils flare in revulsion.

"Don't stop," he mutters, opening an eye. "It's just...the cold of...it's settled in my bones." His grip doesn't loosen until she nods.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he asks, eyes once again closed. She freezes, her hand suspended above his face.

"Lucius..."

"I know," he says curtly, turning his face to the wall. "Don't make me ask again."

It's not his tone, but the despair behind it, that makes her pause. "I will."

His hand blindly reaches up, strokes the magnolia at her neck, trails down to the swell of her breasts. "Thank you."

She closes her eyes, placing her hand over his. "Of course."

* * *

"Let me help you with those."

Narcissa glances up from her paperwork, eyebrow raised. Lucius is struck by the efficiency in her expression; he feels at once foolish and intrusive.

"No need, dear husband," his wife replies smoothly as she dips her quill into the ink, lightly flicking the excess liquid into the bowl. "I've nearly finished with the month's accounts. Why don't you lie down?"

"I'm not tired," he snaps, tone sharper than intended. Narcissa simply shrugs before bending over her work again. The corners of her mouth tighten.

He fiddles with his cufflinks and moves to stand by the fire, close enough for sparks to spit at his robes. The warmth of the flames sooths the lines in his forehead.

"Darling, do step away from the fire," Narcissa warns, her eyes never leaving the parchment in front of her. "Scorch marks are not very fashionable this season."

Lucius grits his teeth and breathes deeply, his nose wrinkling. He's bathed several times, but the stench of prison still clings to him. "I didn't know you had such an interest in the running of the estate, love," he mutters, barely above a whisper.

His wife always did have impeccable hearing. "Adjustments had to be made in your absence, Lucius."

He stares at her as she writes, her delicate frame engulfed in the massive, leather wingback chair. The chair his father sat in, and his father's father. His chair. "Indeed."

* * *

The Dark Lord sits at the head of the table, flanked by Bellatrix and Draco. Narcissa watches her son carefully, noting the way his thumb is rubbing against the wrist of his other hand. She wishes she could take him by that hand and lead him away from this hopeless mess. She wishes she could blame everything on Lucius, but that's her sister, there; she's not sure if she could have ever been free of this.

She thinks briefly of Andromeda. Brave, beautiful, terrifying Andromeda. She wonders if things would have been different if her sister had given her the chance to go with her, all those years ago.

 _I wouldn't have gone, anyway,_ she thinks bitterly. _What a fool I have been._

"Narcissa?" Lucius asks, voice cracking. Bellatrix turns a snort into a cough.

"Husband," Narcissa says firmly, standing to leave with him. She doesn't bother trying to give her sister a hurt look. She's not sure Bellatrix even notices her, anymore.

The last thing she sees as the heavy doors swing closed is Draco's pale, thin face, shining brightly from the candlelight. Lucius' shaking hand finds hers as they stand alone in the dark hall.

"He will be fine," Lucius says to reassure her. She doesn't believe him, but she knows how destroyed he is, and that there's no comfort in voicing truths about their situation. She holds his hand tightly.

"Whatever happens," she says quietly, leading Lucius away from the doors, "we protect our son."

He nods jerkily, his hand sweating beneath hers. She doesn't let go.


End file.
